Mr Doomsday
by diannewinter
Summary: With a crazed Lee Toric living in Charming, following their every move, Tara in prison and Hale's residential projects threatened by environmentalists protests, Jax tries to find balance and keep the boat afloat.
1. Chapter 1

**Here is a story about the havoc Toric brings upon the Club, about Tig's guilt for Dawn's death and about Jax's struggles to keep the raft afloat, while Tara is facing serious time behind bars and Pope's replacement is still looking for answers. Comments highly appreciated.**

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**Mr Doomsday**

**A story by Dianne Winter**

**Chapter 1**

TIG GETS HIS beer from Rosa, eyes narrowed lazy on her big breasts then he pushes a gun in her face just for fun, because he likes to hear her squeal with a full mouth. And to this, Chibs shakes his gray head saying:

"Yer a sick fuck, Tiggy!"

The man shrugs taking a gulp. A bit of liquid drips down the corners of his lips stretched into a smirk, tongue running in cheek.

"Yeah."

For as long as Tig knows Rosa, she's been banging everybody. Nowadays she keeps her pants on around Mr Apocalypse, Mr Big Trouble, Mr Hare Genocide, her neighbor, but she keeps them on not because she wants to, but because the man is too crazed to show interest. This renders Rosa quite useless apart from pranks, gang bang sex, cool beer and a house bordering Mr Doomsday's perimeter. Here is the catch.

Tig likes the style and thinks he might have made friends with the dude over a cool beer, had it not been for the current circumstances. Or not, because Tig doesn't make friends with former cops, law enforcers, prison guards and any other authority present or retired. And now there are also the circumstances.

He giggles silly staring into Rosa's dark eyes getting darker as her pupils dilate then he puts the gun on the cupboard.

Chibs is still shaking his head, but Tig puffs amused because the safety was on and she didn't even notice. She gets scared quickly and deeply, just the way she cums. Now that's a gift, the man ponders.

"Ya, dumb thang!"

Rosa, yeah, she might be downright stupid sometimes, but having lived up to this age of forty two at least she acquired some wisdom. This in turn, tells her to keep it very shallow with Tig and never remain alone in the house when he is around, because there are dark thoughts going on in his mind. As wretched and empty as she may be, Rosa has more reasons to stay alive than he does and this puts her in survivor mode.

So perhaps her calling the Sons to her aid wasn't that bad of an idea throughout.

What Rosa doesn't know is that to Tig she has become as close as it gets to a wife and sometimes a mother, what men often call a woman. Herhanging, meaty tits, her round hips, her swaying stride provided the visual. Her cooking, her cleaning and her kind concerns, the mental. Her creepy son, the mercy. Tig was entranced each time the boy walked in, twisting his head from side to side, sweeping the area with his remaining eye, burn scar running from the neck, to his foot, but the biker had no idea just how far that reached and he didn't care to learn either. Each time the kid walked in, Tig's eyebrows were twisting upwards just where they came close to his nose, making him look a bit like a witness to a car crash.

"Damned creepy one eyed kid with a fire scar down one shoulder, man," he was mumbling squeezing his mustache between two fingers. "Fuck!"

"Vamonos?"

Tig throbs staring at the gun.

"What?"

"This is what you want, desperado," Rosa points out calmly, hand in the side, chest forward.

Tig scratches his forehead and it hurts from the bruise he got fighting a bloke in a strip bar over booze and a pile of cash. The pain shoots across and into one eye: a hot poke thrust in there from within.

"Yeah, yeah," he grinds his teeth, gripping her massive buttocks.

This is the night of the stake out and there's nothing better to do while you wait anyway.

Chibs nods disgusted, although he is not declining his turn with Rosa just a little later. Chibs needs to look disgusted to Tig, because this keeps his mateon a leash. It doesn't mean Tig will spare Rosa from what's called "hard-core" as with him the definition of hardcore finds new expressions and proportions and he always takes "hard" but at least he might get that sinking feeling in shame right after spewing his spunk. That's a feeling all men have, Chibs included. Yet Rosa is a big girl and she can take insane sex maniacs like Tig. But him, the new VP, good old Chibs needs to take last. This is more about her safety than it is about sperm, procreation and any other evolutionary theory you may have come across. If Chibs takes last, it means the woman is alive when he's going for her, since, unlike Tig, Chibs doesn't do dead. What he doesn't know is how much his mate treasures the broad. What he does know is she has become a sort of surrogate of a domestic family life, just as he often imagines life with his Irish woman, always far away, yet never forgotten. So when Rosa brings him a bottle of tequila and steaming cheese nachos and this, right after having him unload his seed in her mouth, Chibs blesses her, kissing the back of her hand.

It's just another night of stake out and there's nothing better to do but smoke and drink and listen to Tig doing things with her behind the thin wall.

To this, Mr Doomsday would say: biker scum. To this, Mr Apocalypse would say his revenge was even more justified. This is not the first night he fixes himself in the bathroom mirror, with the barrel of his gun pressing on the side of his head.

"You won't really die, my friend."

People will ask if anyone knew about Lee Toric.

Now under the chin takes the cool of that metal cylinder pressing against the skin and it's about to get hot, very hot as the bullet shoots out stabbing through the tongue and into the brain. If you're lucky you can't even hear the bam. That's anyway just compressed gases shooting out the pipe. A bullet travels faster than the speed of sound which means this is going to end quicker than you say...

Shit!

Mr Doomsday, Mr Superior Moral, Mr Vengeance Incarnated he can't go ahead. Few people would understand. This is not even about bringing justice to his little sister. This is about that moment between the click and the bam. That's where this takes place. That, between the click and the bam isthe twilight zone.

Coward!

"Trust me, this is not death. This is legend."

Lee Toric runs a sweaty hand through his long hair and he gazes upon himself in the mirror. For the first time in very long he is pleased. The man in the mirror has a purpose.

You take a Remington shotgun. You tie a string to the trigger and to the hook in the ceiling and to the door's handle. You set the weapon in a custom hold pointing at the door. Whoever enters is toast.

Next thing you have is booby traps. You dig holes, you bury sharpened bamboo sticks, you cover them with leaves, whoever steps in there, long agony.

Next thing you have is explosives. It's not hard to make bombs. You can even use soap. You need to stay prepared, use anything you can get.

You take sulphuric acid and you add it to 98 per cent concentration fuming nitric acid. You take glycerine and you put itin with an eye-dropper. You do it in an ice bath to prevent the temperature of the reaction going thunderbolt and blowing you to atoms. This is nitro-glycerine.

Lee Toric would like to see that skank hole of a Club blown to atoms.

You take nitro-glycerine and you mix it with paraffin and you have plastic. Some use sawdust instead of paraffin.

Lee Toric has a few places around his rental wooden shack where an unsuspecting biker came to check him out would trigger an explosion so great, Charming will forever remember.

But what Mr Doomsday does next is what he does every night, is what scares the living soul out of Rosa and her tenants, is what draws the bikers in to gaze from across the fence.

Assess your perimeter for weaknesses.

Improve your position.

If you're prepared you live without fear.

Shoot at anything that moves.

Watching a man walking about armed to the teeth with a light strapped to his forehead would make anybody shake, admit it!

This is your perimeter. Your yard. You guard it well against all intruders.

Racoons.

Hares.

Cats.

Dogs.

Bikers.

Broad neighbors and their crippled kids.

Improve your position.

Check your six every three steps.

This is the revenge of the red neck. This is the red neck fighting the zombies. This is the end of the goddamned world.

Lee Toric has a purpose.

Check your six!

Shoot!

Aha! Another hare.

"I can see you! I know you're there. And I'm gonna get you. One by one!"

This is when Chibs steps outside alarmed by the screams.

At that exact time, Tig cups Rosa's cheeks murmuring because he doesn't want to roar.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry."

There's nothing scarier for Rosa than Tig's kindness. With tears comes anger, with anger comes blow after blow and a kick in the teeth to quench the thirst. But Tig is mellow and soft like a cotton bandage and he's about to confess something twisted and sad, something she would not understand.

And there's a gunshot shattering the calm of that large Californian sky and the dog's sleep.

"What are ya doing?"

And another gunshot, but this one sounds closer, sending Tig's bitch into barking frenzy.

"Bonnie! Bonnie, come here!"

And another one shattering the windows to the living room.

"Tig! Tig, hunker down, brother!"

Now is Tig laying a heavy hand over Rosa's lips as he drags her on the floor next to him and she's already biting her lip, praying for her son.

Soon there will be the sirens, there will be lights, there will be chatter, there will be testimonies, there will be bitter faces and Jax.

Tig smiles holding Rosa and he says:

"Shush. I'm gonna get him."

Although the mechanic is heroic now, moving in four towards the kid's bedroom, Toric had made his point and is resting with an AK 47 in his lap and a 45 ACP in his hand. He's so calm he can afford to whistle watching Rosa's tenant running out, asking each other what, the red-white-blue lights of the Police cars approaching from the distance and Chibs trying to calm everybody.

In all this mess, in the entire waiting and stating and looking around frowning, Tig decides to take his baby out for fresh air, because the sight of his own cock among the greenery is the only amusing story that night. Behind the house, where no-one can see him, where past renovations rubbish sits uncollected for decades, there, he can let go and sob in peace. And when you pee and sob, one hand wiping the eyes clean and the other holding the dick, it makes you look funny and funny things are good for a man's morale.

Tig takes a deep breath grinning, head leaning back, eyes into the dark horizon dotted with trembling stars.

A twig snaps under someone's foot.

"What?" Tig shouts startled.

The woman doesn't answer. She seems just as surprised, running her fingers swiftly behind one ear. The man's face twists in an ugly grimace which makes him the Joker and he goes:

"Ya want some, baby?"

But Rosa's tenant, Marla, just stands there ogling his pecker with a cigarette in one skinny hand, rolling her big brown eyes into his chicory gazes.

"Good night, Mr Trager."

When there's your dick in one hand and a beautiful woman in front of you, all you can think of is porn. But Tig sees the Grand Canyon, spreading in front of him and a dry riverbed at the bottom. Tig is an eagle.

"'Night, love," he murmurs shooting his eyes down her tight jeans, down to her sneakers and his glance trickles over the debris towards the disappearing pool at his feet.

"Fuuuuuuck!"

Tig's roaris a stab wound.

"Fuck!"

It bring Chibs running.

"What's going on now?" the Scottish grumbles trotting towards him.

"'Think I pee on a garden midget, man. Ya know, one of those clay figurines people put in their yards?"

The VP nods noticing the midget's face shining washed off for the first time in years.

"Chibs, that's giving me the shivers. Look at him smiling!" Tig points, stepping backwards.

"Tiggy! It's fine. Tiggy!"

But Tig feels everything is going to hell. It's been going this way for quite a while.

He can barely breathe, but he's changing the subject before his buddy can get a chance to stop him again:

"Have ya ever seen a midget orgy?"

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**Find my latest biker story "Bikes, Havoc and Lolita" free for download at Smashwords this month. **


	2. Chapter 2

###Note to the reader###

**Dear readers, thank you so much for following up my stories! It means a great deal to me to know that I'm read and my stories give you guys and girls enjoyment. I haven't had time to update this sooner, but here it comes, chapter 2 and I'm sure you'll find the twist at the end very enticing.**

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**Chapter 2**

HALE BRINGS ANOTHER set of papers to Jax, whose sour face reflects precisely the horror of becoming a clerk. Now, Jax doesn't wear a tie and a suit. His office boy profile is very unlikely. Hale is wearing his thin, black tie and his gray silky suit which means it's Sunday and he's going to have dinner at Mario's, the best Italian in town, just to be seen. The door to Hale's office had been closed for two weeks and he and Jax have not exchanged a word since the trouble with the environmental issue and the nutcase activist in town ran by a certain Marla Brolin. That's when Jax may have implied eradicating the problem, using a…, just because Jax had too many problems and Marla Brolin was a mosquito buzzing in his ear while he tried to vanquish and an army of Godzillas coming to crush him and his crew. Jax was just saying and Hale had no idea, the back in his old position, Sergeant at Arms Tig Trager stayed behind to bargain Marla had been in great need, but not for bullets. How do you say no to Jax without calling the word "no", this question was bothering Tig's brain when he asked:

"Boss, why? C'mon, the bitch is all right, let me talk to her."

It made Jax smile, because he never intended the woman dead in the first place. He was just tired and sick with everything that was going wrong.

"Okay, I wanna fuck her," Trager continued, shrugging and licking his lips as if anticipating the "taste of sunshine" as Bobby used to put it, but Trager needed to stress something to Jax, who already smirked "ya know, alive…"

Jax is still smiling every time the memory returns to his mind. Now Hale stands there in the door with a folder under one arm and he's humming: "Morning!" like an old friends, Jax knows he's not.

"What's that?" Jax retorts feeling the start of a day long headache.

"Everything you want to know about Marla Brolin."

Jax takes a look at the file and everything is about August Marks. Jax goes:

"Yeah?" because Jax doesn't believe you can learn everything about a person from a folder full of papers.

"She doesn't exist, man," Hale responds, lighting up a cigarette.

Oh, yes, Jax and Hale are buddies now, they share the space while smoking, but Jax is only amused. For the first time in his life Hale imagines himself a proper criminal with proper and very gangsta' criminal connections. In a teenage boy kind of attitude, this is pretty cool.

"Great. We are the Ghost Busters," the President retorts bitterly.

Hale shrugs.

"Marla appeared on earth last November when she got hired by one of Mark's legit companies. There's no record of her anywhere else. Her identity is a fake. She quit Mark's company two months ago, but is still on the payroll as an "external advisor". I think there are many shades of Marla."

"Damned bitch!" Jax grinds his teeth into a smirk.

The outlaw is being watched by the Big Brother in Oakland, because the suntanned folks require their project went on as long as they control the players. Mr President is about to discover there is an annoying side of the legit businesses.

"No killings, Jax. I can't risk this project being compromised. I don't need skeletons beneath my windows."

Jax's sour face is reflected in Hale's expression in the form of a scared, big eyed grimace, because Jax is all about bitterness these days. It's not a matter of doing business, it's just a matter of being in control and Jax knows it and so does Marks. These are two guys who understand one another based on similitude. Since Clay has worked his ways around with Toric, the matter of who is whose bitch has grown back into the old thorns of killing requires vengeance. It's not that Marks can't sleep nights over his boss's death it's just that threatening to go after the real men behind it, is a good squeeze for an increasingly confident and powerful Jax.

"Look carefully, man, and there are bodies buried everywhere," the President replies stashing the folder in the inner pocket of his jacket.

Hale's file is a beautiful piece of circumstantial evidence, almost as consistent as the allegations which put his wife in prison. This hurts. The moment Jax lay eyes on Tara he knew she'd been falling apart and having someone so close to you faltering while making time for the Club and ultimately for you, is not something you can take. Not even when Tara hurt you. Not even when you know she tried to force your hand, take the kids and run to Oregon without discussing matters with you first. Not even when Tara told you she was fed up with Charming and the Club and the poison these two combined brought into anybody's life. And then Tara smiled and her expression reminded Jax of a terminal patient and she said: "I'm so tired, Jax." This is how Jax knows Tara got fed up with him too. Jax had two phrases he often used when shit hit the fan. One of them was: " you have to trust me, we'll get over this." Another one was: "I'm working on it. I have a plan." Jax always had a plan. He even had a plan for a plan, but more than often he found himself in situations when even the most careful strategy seemed doomed to fail. Tara's recent mishap had been one of them.

One thing to worry was the fact that Tara had known too much, actually the openness between them had led to this state of affairs and knowing too much is a dangerous thing especially in this life. Jax can admit to himself he had been wrong, yet he congratulates himself for being cautious enough to hide the most gruesome details such as keeping dead bodies in the trunk and chopping folks' arms with a hatchet. Some minor things did come out: take Wendy's mishap for example.

But it's when Tara mentions something fleetingly like "how did we get here, Jax? What happened to us?" that's when Jax worries most. There's nothing worse for a family man than to watch his home falling apart and to think this is at least in part, his fault.

Plus Marla.

It's because of people like Marla we have decaf coffees.

Fat free yogurt.

Reduced salt ham.

Vegans.

Marla, oh, Marla, Marla…

Eco-friendly homes with computer regulated power consumption.

Solar panels and wind turbines.

Environmental impact surveys.

Bio-fuel.

Reduced noise engines.

Increased gasoline taxes.

Naked models militating against cruelty towards animals.

Sprayed fur coats.

Marches and protests and chained hysterical bitches surrounding construction sites, claiming your buildings harm the rattle snakes and some bug nobody heard about.

Oh, fucking Marla!

Jax smiles, but he has no idea of knowing about the commotion back at Rosa's.

He has no clue about the blood in the kitchen.

The last week, when Rosa's blew up, the Club had to pay damages ten grand, just to put the woman's worries at ease. Last week, Mr Apocalypse has defused with a few shots and a dead hare, terrified tenants and a busy Roosevelt's team.

A burst of throttle and Jax'll be off and all of this will be over for a while, because he'll be flying low down the high way, and that's the time when this outlaw is at his happiest, when he can forget for a moment and simply enjoy the ride. Every time you come to a stop, the whole world comes crushing in on your shoulders with its problems. You gotta keep riding, riding into the sunset.

If only Jax would know about Tig hunkered down on top of a slashed up body which was once lively Rosa and about Chibs shouting: "what did you do?" and the ugly kid with a scar running head to toe running in circles outside, he would think twice about lingering on that stretch of road.

If only Jax would know about Marla walking in over Tig's denials: "it's wasn't me, I swear, man, this wasn't me" and Chibs knife pointed at Marla's thought, he would not take this half hour detour.

But Jax has no idea, which makes him for a brief instance, an innocent man again.

And now Tig is standing up and he's watching Marla who watches Chibs whose lips are twisted into a glaring growl. Bonnie has gone crazy next door and she's barking wild pouncing at the door, because she sniffs the blood. Tig's breath is quick, plus the cold sweat spraying his forehead has started to run down at the temples. And Marla rolls her eyes over towards his and then back to Chibs and she goes:

"'mind if I have a smoke?"

Chibs doesn't like the woman at all.

He is always telling Tig:

"I don't like that bitch."

With Tig, the slim figure, the big boobs and the surgery cut climbing up from the forearm, past the shoulder is a mix of sex fuelled phantasy and genuine pity, the kind that moves him when he eyes Rosa's son.

Chibs doesn't fall for these details. Chibs nearly puked last evening when Marla grabbed Tig's beer and drank from the bottle worse than a thirsty drunk, liquid dripping under the chin, down to her deep v-line, right between those breasts. Because Marla had rolled her eyes again and no sane man could vanquish over that thought of her moaning porn-star style every time she rolled those eyes like that.

But Marla put a cigarette at the corner of her mouth, touching Tig's cuffs and she grinned:

"A chain would work well between these."

With a throb and a hard on, Tig murmured:

"Oh, Marla!"

Chibs wanted to stop them, oh his first impulse was to stand up and slap her out of there, it's just that he had got so sickened that he rather ran into Rosa's bedroom for a quick one.

"Mr Trager, you already have a chain between these… you don't want to see it, but it's there, it has always been there. Just bad luck, you see, you can never be free, although this is what you want most."

The Sergeant at Arms grinned for a while, staring at her and then he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hands:

"Marla, what the hell is wrong with ya, girl?"

That was her time to throb.

"Why the fuck did you have to walk in here, Marla?" Tig screams and she can't be bothered, so he draws his gun. Tig hates this slut right now. He hates her badly. "Okay, bro, let's do this."

Now neither her, nor Chibs seem to be keen to make the first move, but Marla looks as if she had given up so the VP drops his knife into its sheath.

"No. Not now, Tiggy."

Marla puts a cigarette between her skinny fingers, stained by nicotine towards the nails and her hand is shaking just a little. There's blood everywhere and the plates are shattered to pieces on the ground and the kettle still hangs by the wire, just above the floor. The clinker of the bicycle outside reminds Trager the dead used to be a mother.

"Shit, man: who's gonna look after the creepy kid now?"

Marla shrugs puffing away, ogling Chibs briefly, with the corner of the eyes, right before he grabs her arms, slamming her face first into the wall.

"Goddamn it, Tiggy. I've been with her this morning," Chibs mumbles shaking his gray head, tying Marla down with the wire of the toaster.

"Bleach! Take the good side: she's already slashed open," Tig points out, brushing his forehead with the tip of his fingers.

And Marla giggles.

"Go out, grab the dog and the kid! Keep that poor bastard out of this!" Chibs roars.

And Marla giggles even harder now, sliding down on the floor with a bruised cheek.

"What? What ya want, ya bitch?" Tig shouts over Bonnie's squeals and his mate tries to keep him out.

"Tiggy, no! Put it down! Tiggy!"

And Marla turns right in the Sergeant's blue eyes singing:

"Bleach won't do the trick, Mr Trager. Bitch won't do the trick. The forensics have markers, did you know that? Markers for DNA, ha, ha, can you take the risk?"

Chibs hands are pushing against Tig's chest and Tig sweats with his gun in the air and the index squeezing the trigger, but not all the way through.

"What would, huh? What would?"

Marla's eyes are a dark amber and they squeeze into a glare as she whispers:

"Caustic soda."

There is a moment when things fall silent, a moment when the pity comes back and everything is good and warm-soothing again.

"What the fuck is wrong with ya, Marla?"

Yet Chibs snaps, because right this moment he can finally place a tag on Marla, knowing he's right, he's been right ever since the wind blew her into Charming, her and the Eco-Nazos.

"Who are ye, woman?"

And she giggles with her bruised cheek turning from pink into blue.

"The tooth fairy."


	3. Chapter 3

**It's been a while since I updated this. Here is a new chapter, a touching moment between Tig and Rosa's son. The regret after Dawn's death turns Tig very protective and paternal, but the kid suspects him for the murder of his mother. Hope you like it. Comments are highly appreciated.**

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**Chapter 3**

TIG'S PROJECT started by accident. Kind of. Unlike other custom bikes in the past, this time there was no plan. Big Jeff brought him a Heritage Softail with some front end damage. At first Tig thought about taking that bike apart and re-installing the salvage parts into a custom frame. It wasn't until he tore down the damaged hog that he realized it could be saved since the damage was confined to the front fork and wheel.

"Can't kill this thing," he said to Rosa's kid, who was hanging around him the way a young calf hangs around a cow.

But the custom frame thought was there to stay and once an idea like that becomes an order for a frame and a springer, you can bet your life on it, Tig's going to work day and night to get it done. Few people knew Tig as well as Gemma did and as soon as she saw the new frame, straight out of the box, she could tell why this was happening and where it was going. There was a kind side to this harsh and broken man, a side that emerged in the most unexpected moments, generally in awkward and sometimes childish manners.

"I see you get along with the creepy boy," she told him. "Bonnie likes him… he can't be that bad."

Tig shrugged for an answer, perhaps thinking whether to get a blow job from Tina, the latest broad providing services to the whole troop.

Later that afternoon he told the kid to search used parts on eBay.

"Don't get me any Chinese stuff. Especially when it comes to wheels. I don't want no goddamned low quality shit even if it comes cheaper, get it?"

The boy nodded, otherwise remaining silent and creepy as everyone called him.

"I specifically want a 19" wheel because everybody has a 21. Get it?"

The boy nodded again with a grin.

So after sorting out trifles such and getting rear shocks, it was time for the engine. There Tig had to go through a lot of technical stuff, before making a decision. In this respect, the frame sort of set the rules of the game and the frame was built for a 2000 to 2006 88B motor.

"Since Harley brought out the Twin Cam 88B in 2000, a 1999 Softail transmission would be quite different. Ya need to look for the right one. Go back to the searches, kid."

It was time to do a trial fit of the engine and this boy was a heavy beast, all right! Bam! Big problem with the front mounts in that they were located about ¼" too far forward so the mount bolt holes did not line up. This problem brought Rosa's son to tears.

"Emanuel, for the fuck sake, stop weeping, son!"

Tig's arm hugged the kid's plump shoulders.

"Hey, any problem has a solution. Besides, are ya in any hurry? Huh?"

Now Bonnie wasn't impressed either. Since Tig spent more time with the kid and the custom frame than with her, the dog had gone depressed.

"Stop being a bitch," Tig was sometimes saying, eying the pet, lifting one eyebrow, to which Bonnie responded by a squealed yawn.

As far as Tig was concerned, he wanted this project to last forever. And why not? Emanuel was learning a great deal about bikes and Tig, well, he was less lonely. Regarding the matter at hand, his first thought was to elongate the holes. After a good night of boozing and some random boning, he shelved that idea and decided to replace the mounts. He called the frame supplier and asked for four new mount brackets which they supplied the following week. Now the problem was how to locate the new mounts.

"We're gonna do this in a manner that is meticulous," he said to Rosa's son, who was growing closer to the world of mechanics by the day. "It's important to be meticulous and patient, son, with everything ya do. See, I wasn't always patient and now I'm here with ya instead of with my own kid, God rest her soul. But meticulous, yeah, I can be meticulous."

For now things were going smoothly. Jax somehow managed to twist Childcare lady around his finger, a fact which allowed Emanuel to live with Gemma for now. But matters could not remain like this forever and when Tig put himself forward for custody everybody reckoned this was getting serious.

"I'm gonna adopt that weird kid, man… he still scares me sometimes with his burn scar and his fix glances, but what the hell! Hey, at least the dog likes him, ya know."

"They'll never give you custody," Jax pointed out. "You're not married and you have a record."

Tig gazed into the distance, sucking his upper lip.

"Yeah, man, but I can help that kid."

As for Jax, he was kind of remote these days. The sweet kid had turned bitter and older… yeah, Jax looked at least ten years older. And Tig knew Tara played a part. He wished he could save her somehow from the shame and the horror of a destroyed life, but this was something even Jax couldn't achieve, so instead he focussed all his efforts on Clay. What a fun that was ever since who killed Pope became transparent to his replacer.

"Go ask Nero. He knows this shit better," Jax offered.

This is how Tig went to see Nero and instead of answers he ended up entering that crazy affair with the "Diva" as they called her, a type of broad so unlike the others, yet far more dangerous. But this is one of those stories for which one needs patience.

Back to the project, Tig decided to use the engine case as the jig fixture but the engine was far too heavy for that. The best solution seemed to disassemble it and remove all of the heavy parts such as the cylinders, the flywheels, and so on. Tig found it funny how that engine had never been started up and now it sat disassembled on his work table. Emanuel looked fascinated, though. He picked every part and inspected it, almost the way forensics do with a crime scene.

And then just when Tig hunkered down to pick up a screw, the boy asked that question Tig had always been afraid he'd ask:

"Did you kill my mother?"

Tig twisted his face towards the kid standing above him with a wrench in his fleshy hands and closing his eyes for a fraction of a second, he answered:

"No."

The kid backed off perhaps because of the strength of that "no", perhaps because Tig had been the closest to a father and he'd never known his father.

"My ma' was a hooker and a junkie, but she was still my ma'", Rosa's son said. "Why are you so kind to me, hombre?"

The mechanic rolled his eyes to the back of the chair where he had a .45 ACP hanging by a strap in its leather sheath then back to the boy whose chill and determination were losing to the tears. An investigation established Marla couldn't have carried out the murder alone, but her accomplice couldn't be found. The cops investigated everybody, Tig included, but his alibi stood. You might wonder: what is an alibi, after all? Yet unlike other times, this was no lie.

"Coz if I was a chick, I would have been Rosa," Tig muffled standing up and in the same abrupt motion, snatching the wrench and throwing it aside. "That's why."

Now Emanuel started weeping big time and the biker just stood there watching him. Between the whiffs and the snorts Tig made out the confession of a childhood filled with neglect and desolation. Rosa had been the cause for the boy's scar, as apparently at the age of three the boy set a blanket on fire, while his mother slept dead-drunk in the next room. The mechanic lost the plot when the sobbing moved to Spanish and then he made one swift effort to shut the kid up. It's been a while since Tig hugged someone the way he did Emanuel, but it worked. The cry ceased and Tig felt that warmth he remembered when he thought about Dawn before her death.

"We're gonna be best pals, ain't that so, kid?"

Emanuel nodded pressing his cheek harder to the man's chest.

**###**

**Find my latest biker story Bikes, Havoc and Lolita free for download this month at Smashwords. **


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